


Nota Mortum

by tangerine (arte)



Category: Death Note, Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 05:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5654230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arte/pseuds/tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You see him, too," is the first sentence Abigail says to him. The clock ticks loudly in the corner. Tic. Toc. Tic.</p><p>Reluctantly, Will nods. "What is he?"</p><p>"You can ask me directly," the man says, looking amused. "I'm what you would call a grim reaper." </p><p>-</p><p>Death Note AU. Will picks up the Death Note. Hannibal is the reaper. (This fic can be understood even if you haven't seen Death Note before)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nota Mortum

**Author's Note:**

> Hannibal doesn't look like Ruke. He looks like himself in this fic. I took artistic liberties x)

Will finds the note lying on the street the day he agreed to work with Jack Crawford. He picks it up, drawn to the graceful, silver loops written on the black cover.

 _Nota Mortum_ , his brow rises at what he reads. He wonders what kind of a pretentious person thought to name their notebook 'Death Note' in latin. There's no name on the cover. He flips one page to see if it's written in the inside and sees black page and the same silver cursive that says: How to Use.

_1\. The human whose name is written in this note shall die._

Will snorts. He swears, if this belongs to one of his students... But his smirk fades as his eyes skim the rest of the instruction.

_2\. The note will not take effect unless the writer has the person's face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected._

_3\. If the cause of death is written within the next 40 seconds of writing the person's name, it will happen._

_4\. If the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die of a heart attack._

_5\. After writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds._

It's too detailed, that's the problem. Try as he might, Will can't shrug this off as a prank. The paper is heavy and expensive against his hand with a skull looming at the top. It's drawn by hand and obsessively shaded, just a step away from tearing its way out of the paper.

 _A well-made prank item, then_ , Will tells himself, but he can't make himself leave it alone. 

Hesitantly, Will puts it inside his briefcase and takes it home.

-

Will doesn't usually find the need to take notes as he has near eidetic memory. But this time, eight girls are already dead and he's missing something. Writing things down is supposed to sharpen one's memory.

Will uses the black notebook he picked up as his case note. The title seems fitting enough, morbid.

Will finds himself using initials instead of full names. It's just more convenient, that is all.

-

He dreams of impaling blue eyed girls on the wall.

-

Maybe everything would have been different if Will arrived at the Hobbs house just a little faster. The first thing Will sees is Mrs. Hobbs, lying spread eagle in front of the door, throat slashed and eyes opaque. He slams on the brake, barrels out of the car and hurries into the door with his gun raised. 

The gun wasn't necessary. In the kitchen, Garrett Jacob Hobbs is already dead, crumbled on the floor with a bloody knife in his hand. Will doesn't give a shit about why he's dead. The daughter is still alive, shaking, a shallow wound on her neck dripping. She looks at him with a shell shocked eyes, mouth opening and closing, but no sounds come out.

Will has a presence of mind to call 911 as fast as he can.

-

Abigail Hobbs is staying in Port Haven for the time being. When Will expresses a desire to see her, Alana responds that she'd like to be with him on his first visit.

They walk through the impersonal white walls and opens the flimsy door. Abigail is sitting on her bed and there's a man standing by her side. He looks to be in his forties and his whole appearance screams old European charm, from his slicked back hair to high cheekbones to three-piece suit. 

Will is about to say awkward hello when Alana says, "Abigail, this is Will Graham we talked about," acting like she couldn't see the man at all. 

Will is dumbfounded for a second. How many people do you see wearing plaid suits and paisley ties?

"Oh," Abigail says, her eyes darting from Will to the man who Will is busy staring. Will and Abigail's eyes meet mid-air, and like lightning, shiver runs through Will's spine. 

Suddenly, he understands. He isn't supposed to be seeing the man. The man is Abigail's ghost. Shared by the two, the skull with red eys and Cheshire like grin jumps out of the page.

"Will?" He almost jumps. It's only Alana. She's looking at him with a worried frown. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," his answer is automatic. Will doesn't ask her if she really can't see the man, although he wants to. Alana is ready to whip out psych eval for him in any second. He doesn't need that. He tries to smile. "Everything's okay."

She gives him an epic side-eye, but doesn't press. 

For now. 

"I'll see you later, then," she says as she gives a little nod to Abigail. Abigail must have told her that she wanted to talk to Will alone while he was busy zoning out. Alana is leaving. 

The door shuts with a click that sounds ominously final. 

"You see him, too," is the first sentence Abigail says to him. The clock ticks loudly in the corner. Tic. Toc. Tic.

Reluctantly, Will nods. "What is he?"

"You can ask me directly," the man says, looking amused. His voice is cultured, accented. It's a bit surprising. Weren't ghosts supposed to be silent?

"Who are you?" Will asks.

"Hannibal."

"That's not what I'm asking."

"I'm what you would call a grim reaper."

Series of questions flash through Will's mind, too fast to catch up. He lightly shakes his head, mentally sorting through his priorities, his choice of words.

He chooses, "How can I see you?"

The man points at Will's briefcase. "You have my notebook."

"Reapers have a notebook?" Will blurts out.

The man gives him a mysterious smile in lieu of answer and steps back. "Forgive my manners, Abigail," he says as he bows down at her. "I've been monopolizing your guest."

"It's okay," she says, voice slightly shaky. "I was curious about how he could see you too." 

Abigail turns her gaze to Will, but says nothing. Will feels like a spot light has just been turned on between the two of them.

"I.. just wanted to see if you were doing okay," Will says. The words seem so little.

Shadow passes over Abigail's face. They're both thinking of the day they met. "Do you feel responsible for me because you came too late?" She asks bluntly.

Will sees the gaping wound on Mrs. Hobbs's neck. "Yes," is the only thing he can say.

"...I don't know what to feel about you."

"I just want to help you in any way I can," he offers. "If you don't want to see me anymore, I'll respect that."

Abigail looks down at her hands, scrunches the sheet between them.

"At least you're proving that I didn't just go crazy from the shock," she says, unclenching her fists. It feels like a peace offering.

"Can I visit you sometimes?" Will asks.

"Okay," Abigail says. She looks like she wants to say something more, but keeps her mouth close.

"Will you be going now?" Hannibal steps in smoothly, putting his hand on Abigail's shoulder. The question feels like a test that Will would fail whichever way he chooses.

"Yes," Will answers warily.

Hannibal nods as if Will has been the epitome of social grace. "Then I'll come with you to explain a few things."

Abigail turns her head sharply toward Hannibal. Judging by the blush that follows a second later, she didn't mean to do that.

Hannibal kneels down on her, like a father explaining to his daughter that the monster is not in the closet. "It won't be for long. Would it be okay for me to leave?"

"You don't have to babysit me all day," her voice is forceful.

"On the contrary, it's my pleasure to spend my time with you," Hannibal smiles and squeezes her hand. "I'll come back soon."

"You can take your time," Abigail says.

That's how Will came to lead a god of death to his car.

-

"What's the note for?" Will asks as soon as they pull into the main road. At first he thought he might wait until they arrived home in case the shock made him swerve his car into ditch or something, but he can't handle the unasked questions choking him with pressure.

"Haven't you read the instruction?" Hannibal asks back.

"I read it. You mean that's all true?"

"You haven't tested it?"

Will swallows. "No."

"Why haven't you?"

"It felt like a joke."

"All the more reason to try. Weren't you curious?"

Will doesn't answer. _Yes_ , is clawing at his throat. 

"It's in my briefcase," Will says, although he knows that Hannibal already knows. "Take it back."

"Are you sure?"

Will glances at the reaper. "Isn't it yours?"

"Not anymore. Finders keepers."

"I'm returning it to you."

"Then all your memory about the notebook would have to be erased."

Will pauses. "Why is that necessary?"

"I use my notebook to kill people, Will," Hannibal answers, voice suddenly dropping low, dangerous. "Wouldn't want mortals to peak behind the veil, yes?"

Unwillingly, Will's eyes are dragged to the reaper's face, chill engulfing him. He doesn't understand how he thought that Hannibal looked _normal_ for even one second. He's the darkness waiting behind you, blood red falling from the sky, howling of the damned.

"How did I come to finding your notebook?" Will asks, feeling numb.

"I misplaced it."

"On purpose."

Hannibal tilts his head, amused. "Yes."

"Why?"

"I was curious what would happen."

Will grips the wheel tightly. He wants to look so badly but he doesn't. He focuses on the road.

"What would you do after I return you the notebook?"

"I'll drop it again." 

"People would die."

The silence that follows after his statement purrs, _Oh, you ridiculous child._

"Don't they always?"' 

Black hands like fog slithers up on Will's neck and pushes him down. The weight of ticking time. It's suffocating. He can't speak.

He needs to think.

-

"Interesting," says Hannibal. He's sitting in one of Will's chairs, legs crossed, flipping through the notebook which is now supposedly Will's.

"What is?" Will prompts reluctantly.

"You used the notebook, but didn't write down full names."

"No, I didn't," his stomach feels knoted. He changes the subject. "Did you drop Abigail's note as well?"

"How do you know she has one?"

"You told me I could see you because of the notebook."

"I did," Hannibal smiles like Will is a dog with a particularly clever trick. "No, it wasn't mine."

"Then where is the other reaper?"

"She's no longer here," Hannibal answers, looking almost melancholy. It's the first time he looks like he could be touched by anything. "Mischa died saving Abigail."

"Can reapers die?"

"Our job is to bring death, not life. Mischa prevented Abigail's death by killing her father instead. The price was her life. I thought she would appreciate the object of her love having her notebook."

The fire is creakling merrily in the fireplace. The warm air feels like a funeral, somber and full of memories. The words taste almost obscene on his tongue, but Will can't help but say it. "And you were curious what Abigail would do with it."

Hannibal looks at him, his eyes crinkled around the edge. "Of course.

-

The next time Will and Abigail meet, they're alone. No psychiatrists or reapers to judge them. 

"Do you still have yours?" Abigail asks him.

"Yes," Will says. "I haven't used it."

 _Yet_ , is heavy in the air.

"You don't think other people could be trusted with the notebook," Abigail infers. 

"Everyone thinks about killing someone."

"And writing names is so much easier than pulling a trigger."

Will looks down at his steepled hands, mirroring Abigail's. "Why are you keeping yours, Abigail?"

"You'd rather I just give it up?"

"It's dangerous."

She smiles, bitter and defiant. "Do you know how much my words are worth? I can't even get myself out of here. Do you think people would have ever believed me if I told them that I felt like my father wanted to kill me?"

"Abigail..."

She shakes her head. "Someone died to finally give me the chance for my words to mean something. I'm not letting go of my only defence."

"Killing isn't the answer."

"I'm only here because someone killed my dad."

Will doesn't have a defence agaisnt that. He can't help but wonder what would have happened if he could've killed Garret Jacob Hobbs instead of Mischa.

-

"It is remarkable," Hannibal says as he looks back at the field of people who had been used as a fertilizer for mushroom. "How humans keep coming up with the most ingenious method of death."

To his irritation, Will found that Hannibal could fly and be there at moment's notice. Hannibal is capable of pushing his way into Will's life any time he chose to and Will has to tolerate his presence despite not being in the mood to talk. Jesus Christ, he's just gotten grabbed by a literal mushroom man. Couldn't he get a break?

"You're that Will Graham who keeps visiting Abigail Hobbs, aren't you?" 

Will stops dead in his track and turns. He's met with the most flamboyant red hair he's ever seen in his life.

"Do I know you?" Will can barely suppress his irritation.

"Freddie Lounds," the woman offers up her hand as if they are having a perfectly normal meeting. "I'm a journalist."

"How do you know if I've been visiting Abigail?"

"I offered her a book deal."

"Did she say yes?"

"...No."

"And you stalked her anyway."

"I was being professional," she says smoothly. "Garret Jacob Hobbs died of a heart attack right before he was about to kill her daughter. Remarkable timing, isn't it?"

"Yes," Will says tersely.

"You were the first person on the scene," Freddie smiles slyly. "And the only one."

"What are you trying to insinuate?"

"You didn't pass the FBI's psych screening."

"Freddie Lounds," the voice in his ears makes Will jerk. He swivels around to find Hannibal looking up at him through his lashes. Freddie is smirking widely, having witnessed the proof of his unstable mental state right before her eyes.

"All you need is a name and a face," the reaper says seductively.

And oh, it'd be so easy. No one would know. Will imagines making her rip out her own tongue and char it, dip it half in gold.

"Excuse me," Will swallows. He needs to go.

-

Eldon Stammet is wheeling Abigail down the hall on a wheelchair. She is sedated, unconscious. She can't see his face or write down his name.

Will's finger is pulling the trigger; One in his shoulder, making him stagger away from Abigail. Another in his stomach, making him gasp. The final one on his chest, making him fall down in a thud. 

"You...why? Under..stand.." the dying man gurgles.

Will feels the looming presence of the reaper behind him. The darkness gently surrounds his hands holding the gun. 

Will doesn't look back. His focus is on the light going out of Eldon Stammet's eyes.

-

Will pours himself a glass full of scotch. Deadly force encounter meant a lots of paperwork.

But of course, Will doesn't have the luxury of being alone these days.

"You're not using the notebook because it makes death too easy," Hannibal says as he pours himself two fingers.

Will grips at the edge of the table. "Death shouldn't be easy."

"You want it to be more intimate."

Will's stomach flips at the insight. "Guns aren't intimate."

"You stood in front of your victim and watched him twtiching to get away from you," Hannibal points out, his voice almost fond. "You could've killed him in your car."

Will turned his head away. "I wasn't about to kill him when I wasn't sure if he'd gotten to Abigail."

"Of course," Hannibal says. "Your heart was set on saving her and nothing else."

Will wants so badly to say _yes_ but he can't. God, the blood, the gurgling sound-

Will rakes his hand through his hair. "Why are you doing this to me?" He asks shakily.

"You're doing this to yourself, Will. Give credit to where it's due. You're more bloodthirsty than most reapers because you understand," Hannibal says. His tone is admiring, his tongue caressing each vowel and consonant. 

Will hates how pride blooms inside him at that moment. He smothers it with his drinks.

"What a beautiful boy you are," Hannibal murmurs.


End file.
